“Yup,” says Brit.
I laugh and ask, “Any tips for my first day?”
“Memorize names,” says Ollie.
“And drink orders,” says Jake.
“And every other microscopic detail you can. Husbands. Wives. Kids. Careers.”
“If it’s their fourth or fifth marriage.”
“If the divorce was nasty or amicable.”
“If they’re flying to Milan for business or just got back from a vacation in Paris.”
“If their kid goes to Princeton or graduated from Yale.”
“The more personable you are,” Jake tells me, “the sooner people will ask to sit in your section, and the sooner they sit in your section, the better the tips.”
I nod. “Remember details and be likable. Seems easy enough.”
“For the men, lunch is about speed,” says Ollie. “They want a quick bite and a whiskey before heading back to the course. For the women, lunch is anevent. They plan their whole day around it, so be attentive but not overbearing.”
“And keep the Chardonnay flowing,” adds Jake.
“Ah, yes,” Ollie agrees. “The wine mixes with the Prozac, Xanax, and Valium and makes the housewives quite amiable.”
“Maybe too amiable,” says Jake. “Pretty sure Nancy Belview grazed my ass yesterday when I was delivering her fourth glass of champagne.” He pauses, thoughtful. “I didn’t hate it, though. She looks great for seventy.”
“It’s the Botox,” says Brit. “And the lip filler.”
“Really? I thought maybe she sacrificed virgins and drank their blood.”
Brit huffs, blowing air out of her nose. It’s the closest thing to a laugh I’ve seen from her so far.
“So be attentive but not obnoxious,” I repeat, starting to feel a little overwhelmed. At the last place I worked, my biggest concern was the weekend breakfast crowd. Rowdy children, stressed parents, lots of cleanup. One time a kid threw his entire plate of pancakes at me because we didn’t have any blue crayons left, and it took two hours to clean the syrup out of my hair. I smelled like Mrs. Butterworth’s for days. “Got it.”
“And smile even when they treat you like you’re the dirt under their shoe,” says Ollie.
“Or if they refer to you as ‘the help,’” says Jake.
“Or if they make a drunken pass at you after too many glasses of bourbon.”
“Or if they send back a well-done steak even though theyaskedfor it well-done.”
“Or if they only tip you five percent on a four-hundred-dollar meal.”
“Or if they send back the second steak because now it’s toounderdone.”
“Or if they proposition you while their wife’s out of town.”
“Or ask for a threesome while she’sintown.”
Brit rolls her eyes, holding up a hand. “Wow, guys. You’re painting a real nice picture here.” She glances at me. “Ignore them. You’re pretty. You’re likable. You claim to have steady hands. Just don’t burn some dude’s dick off and you’ll be fine.”
Jake and Ollie simultaneously wince.
“Oof,” Jake mutters. “That was traumatic. I had nightmares for weeks.”
